As soon as it was settled, father drives off to the stables, and then returns mounted, with a red silk pocket handkerchief tied round his head, and colt a looking like himself as proud as a nabob, chock full of spring like the wire eend of a bran new pair of trowser galluses—­one said that’s a plaguy nice lookin colt that old feller has arter all, that horse will show play for it yet, says a third; and I heard one feller say, I guess that’s a regular Yankee trick, a complete take in.  They had a fair start for it, and off they sot, father took the lead and kept it, and won the race, tho’ it was a pretty tight scratch, for father was too old to ride colt, he was near about the matter of seventy years old.  Well when the colt was walked round after the race, there was an amasin crowd arter him, and several wanted to buy him; but, says father, how am I to get home without him, and what shall I do with that are waggon and harness so far as I be from Slickville.  So he kept them in talk, till he felt their pulses pretty well, and at last he closed with a Southerner for 700 dollars, and we returned, having made a considerable good spec of colt.  Says father to me, Sam says he, you seed the crowd a follerin the winnin horse, when we came there, did’nt you? yes Sir, said I, I did.  Well, when colt beat him, no one follered him at all, but come a crowded about him.  That’s popularity, said he, soon won, soon lost—­cried up sky high one minute, and deserted the next or run down; colt will share the same fate.  He’ll get beat afore long, and then he’s done for.  The multitude are always fickle minded.  Our great Washington found that out, and the British officer that beat Bounaparte, the bread they gave him turned sour afore he got half through the loaf.  His soap had hardly stiffened afore it ran right back to lye and grease agin.  I was sarved the same way, I liked to have missed my pension, the Committee said I warn’t at Bunker’s hill at all, the villans.  That was a Glo—–­, (thinks I, old boy, if you once get into that are field, you’ll race longer than colt, a plaguy sight; you’ll run clear away to the fence to the far eend afore you stop, so I jist cut in and took a hand myself,) yes, says I, you did ’em father, properly, that old waggon was a bright scheme, it led ’em on till you got ’em on the right spot, did’nt it?  Says father, there’s A moral Sam, in every thing in natur.  Never have nothin to do with elections, you see the valy of popularity in the case of that are horse—­sarve the public 999 times, and the 1,000th, if they don’t agree with you, they desart and abuse you—­see how they sarved old John Adams, see how they let Jefferson starve in his old age, see how good old Munroe like to have got right into Jail, after his term of President was up.  They may talk of independence, says father, but Sam, I’ll tell you what independence is, and he gave his hands a slap agin his trowses pocket,